


a nightmare dressed like a daydream

by andymcnope



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Halloween, sort of girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andymcnope/pseuds/andymcnope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a thing now, but Shaw stops short of calling it a habit. It just… it’s happened enough that Shaw isn’t exactly surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a nightmare dressed like a daydream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kesdax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/gifts).



> because kesdax wrote fic for me and I had this plot bunny that I shouted at her in all caps on an ask and. yeah. um. this fic is only 730 words I've re-written every sentence five times over so it feels long. 
> 
> title from a taylor swift song bc fuck it that's why

There’s an insistent knock at Shaw’s door, and she stays very very quiet in the dark of her apartment.

 

When the knocking doesn’t stop, Shaw curses under her breath before reaching for her gun and standing against the wall by the doorframe. “I don’t have any candy!” She shouts.

 

“That’s not very neighborly of you,” the familiar voice comments in a teasing tone.

 

Shaw rolls her eyes; thinks twice before opening the door. Opens it anyway; it’s a thing now, but Shaw stops short of calling it a habit. It just… it’s happened enough that Shaw isn’t exactly surprised.

 

( _It’s not a relationship if Root’s someone else every day, and Shaw’s on her third sublet in about eight weeks,_ Shaw reasons with herself.)

 

Root’s leaning against the doorway in a pair of black denim pants and an off the shoulder cable knit sweater; Shaw’s not sure what strikes her the most, the exposed skin of Root’s shoulder, or the lavender color of the sweater.

 

Shaw takes in the other woman’s hair next, scrunched into a messy bun, skin devoid of any make-up and Shaw thinks she can make the faintest of freckles on Root’s cheekbones. 

 

Shaw knows she can pull a lot of looks off; maybe not as many as Root, but definitely enough… yet there’s something so effortlessly casual and— the word beautiful gets stuck in her mind, unwilling to let herself go there…

 

(Yeah, Root looks— yeah. Shaw has to stop herself again, a physical ache manifesting itself in every old wound, reminding her she’s alive.)

 

“This better be a social visit,” Shaw says, backpedaling when she sees Root’s teasing smile. “I mean— I don’t—” she takes a breath and remembers this is why she doesn’t do— whatever this is. It makes shit awkward, and she doesn’t need awkward. “It’s just that it’s my first day off in forever from _all_ of my jobs, and I was looking forward to catching a game, maybe getting a bite to eat,” she finally explains.

 

Root lifts her right hand, the contents of the paper bag filling the air with delicious aromas that make Shaw’s stomach growl. “Did you know Trick or Treat originated as a type of begging?” Root offers as a non-sequitur.

 

Shaw feels the aching spread through her body. “Is this you begging?” Shaw challenges.

 

Root leans forward; “This is just a treat,” she says, close enough that Shaw can smell her shampoo, sandalwood and jasmine. “But the evening’s still young.”

 

(It’s always a different brand and different scent; Shaw goes unscented for most of her toiletries, but Root seems to feel every alias needs it own identity, created with trial sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner.)

 

Shaw stands her ground, even as Root stares at her with a look that’s becoming increasingly familiar. “No costume?”

 

Root shrugs. “I spend the rest of the year dressed like someone or something else,” she points out, hand reaching to brush against Shaw’s hair; it’s down, in untamed waves that go past her shoulder. Root appears fascinated by it, backs of her fingers brushing against Shaw’s collarbone, exposed by the tank top; Shaw feels the chain reaction through her body, heat blooming through her chest until air gets stuck in her throat, her skin breaking into goosebumps. 

 

Root’s lips taste different than all the times before. Not that Shaw’s cataloguing them or anything, but there are no artificial flavors this time; Root tastes soft and lazy, like all the morning afters they’ve never had.

 

The sounds of children screaming down the hall pushes them apart, Shaw moving to quickly pull Root into the apartment, slamming the door shut with her foot. The bag of food falls somewhere on the way, a loud plop and smoosh as it makes contact with the hardwood floor.

 

“What about dinner?” Root asks against Shaw’s lips.

 

“We’ll get to it,” Shaw replies as she presses her lips against Root’s bare shoulder and traces a line until she’s brushing her teeth against a known spot on the base of Root’s neck. They narrowly miss stepping on a food container, Root’s hand gripping Shaw’s hip as they tumble their way into the bedroom.

 

It’s not a relationship, Shaw repeats to herself like a mantra, even if she’s getting pretty good at knowing what Root likes. 

 

(She continues repeating it even as Root pulls her close, her weight fully pressed against the hacker, Root’s hair spilling from the messy bun onto Shaw’s pillow.)

 

 


End file.
